


At The Violet Hour

by bellafeine (BellaFeine)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Demons, M/M, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFeine/pseuds/bellafeine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," the orange-haired teen drawled, "You're a kind of male Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"<br/>"Shut up orange. I'm a demon destroyer not a blonde high-school girl," Grimmjow tugged on his powder blue locks to emphasise his point.<br/>"Yeah…" Ichigo was unimpressed. </p><p>Cue Grimmjow and Ichigo caught up in events that surpass even their wildest dreams…and nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of the Perversion of Twilight

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Bleach that honour belongs to Tite Kubo

* * *

 The figure in the rain had many names.

Demon Destroyer.

Supernatural Slayer.

Hollow Hunter.

The cool rain slashed against his face, his hood doing nothing to protect against the steady drizzle sliced by the wind. His shoulders hunched in a failed attempt to stop the onslaught, he continued down the road, head bowed and ignoring the rest of the word that slid past in a haze of neon lights. The slick of water on the tarmac created an unnatural glow of sickly greens and garish yellows, cascading with each car that tore past in an attempt to get out of the abysmal weather.

He simply continued on, water logging his jeans, heavy boots splashing, a man with a mission.

Then he would be out and onto the next one.

Reports had come in on an unnatural sequence of deaths, all women, all exceptionally beautiful. Usually, this wasn't his area at all, after all their deaths could be perfectly human in nature. However, the fact that this town was en route to San Francisco where he had been planning to check in sometime soon anyway, and that the victims were all missing their hearts and nothing else, made it worth his while to at least check it out.

If he had the chance to wipe more demons from the earth, then he would simply be one step closer to his goal.

He turned onto a side street, up a few steps, and disappeared into the ground floor of an apartment block.

The pitiless rain continued to fall, raw and heavy, painting the world in hues of grey, making reality blurred and unreal.

* * *

***

* * *

The buzz of the bell was like an annoying fly in his ears, disrupting his thoughts.

Children, aged fifteen to seventeen, trickled into the classroom, following each other like minnows in a school. Children, yes, and he was one of them.

Yet he was nothing like them.

He eyed them, his gaze discerning and aloof: they were all the same. Completely normal, black-haired and brown-eyed, blond-haired and blue-eyed, second year high school students. There were a couple of more exotic looks among them; a giant of a Hispanic boy and a big-chested dark-ginger girl, but nothing special. Noting nothing strange, he sat back and waited for the teacher who had just entered to notice him. And notice him he did. They always did.

With a head of azure hair that rivalled a summer’s sky and electric blue eyes that pierced the soul, he was not someone who could simply be ignored. Even without those defining physical features, the teenager simply had something that commanded attention. His posture, his facial expression, the way he drummed his long fingers along the laminated surface of the desk: all of it created an allure that was simultaneously dangerous and fascinating.

The minnows flocked around him, girls questioning and boys jostling, but he paid them little heed. A quick nod of his head and a half smirk was enough to keep them happy and they flowed back to their seats and settled down.

“Good morning all. Ah yes, you must be Grimmjow J – Ya – Jack,” the professor fumbled for a while before affirming, “Grimmjow. As you’re transferring in for this semester: try to keep up; normally the curriculum shouldn’t differ too much from where you were previously.”

He nodded once, knowing full well that he was lagging behind in the academic sense. He had only started attending an actual school aged fifteen, and though his general life skills were far above average, his attention was elsewhere. School was simply a convenient place to gather information and make contacts, although he doubted anyone here would be of any use as he gave the classroom a once over again. His fingers continued to dance across the desk; it seemed he was never quite still.

His perfunctory glance was interrupted as the door sprang open and in burst a late-comer. Mumbling a quick apology to the teacher, Grimmjow watched with one eyebrow raised as the newest arrival stumbled his way to a seat by the window. His hair was damp with sweat and his school bag was askew.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Ah, hello Kurosaki,” the teacher greeted him warmly, “I won’t count this time, but be careful about tardiness, alright?”

“Thank you,” the teenager mumbled again, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Something about the wideness of those eyes struck Grimmjow. His brow was the brow of someone who had lived outside of the realm of banality. The wide mouth and tropical colour of the hair suggested that whenever he did anything, it would be utterly and without restraints. It was nothing like the muddy waters of the other students.

His fingers continued their tattoo on the table, and his foot twitched subconsciously. This place was stifling. The people in this room, he couldn’t help but feel as though they were an entirely different species.

Taking a breath and cutting the rhythm short, he mentally shook himself. The assignment said he only had to be here for three months, at the most. All he had to do was figure it out and then he could do something useful.

He could make good on his vow.

This place was but a stepping stone to bigger things.

* * *

***

* * *

The last of the sun’s flavescent rays fought their way through the small window in Grimmjow’s apartment and illuminated his meagre belongings in hues of orange and gold.

The room was a total of thirteen metres squared, including the bathroom. A foldout bed and a table with one plastic picnic chair took up the floor space. A sink and a two-hob stove in one corner, upon which a pot of instant ramen was heating up. The entire place made him feel claustrophobic.

Gleaming knives, daggers and bullets sat in orderly rows on the kitchen table, reflecting fragmented light-bursts onto the walls. A few guns sat behind them crowding the remaining plastic surface. He finished polishing the last dagger, an elegant slender silver blade that looked sharp enough to cut light.

It almost was.

Newspaper articles were scattered across the meagre floor space, random sentences underlined in red. Easy to get, people handed them out free at the school gates. At least nineteen documented deaths in the past six months within this region of southern Oregon. All beautiful young women found with their hearts cut out. He couldn’t seem to pinpoint whether they were surgically removed or simply ripped out. He also had no idea what creature’s modus operandi this was. What ate hearts? Nothing of the common demon persuasion, that was a given. And he would have only been sent on this mission if it was strongly suspected that the activity was distinctly inhuman.

Shawlong and the others would have known.

He shook his head roughly, as if physical action could clear away his thoughts. Sheathing the knife he decided to eat. It would be dark soon and he wanted to check out what the night scene in this town was like.

Grimmjow quickly finished his meal and shrugged on a leather jacket. Night hadn’t quite fallen but the atmosphere in the tiny apartment was cloying. He needed to get out and do something. Anything.

Hands shoved deep into his faded blue jeans, he strolled out into the street. The sky above him swirled pink and lavender, a couple of stars visible despite the fact the sun hadn’t quite set. The autumn weather was mild; it was only mid-October after all. The scent of fresh leaves and cut grass floated up from the park across the street, and Grimmjow breathed it in deeply.

The peace shattered like shards of glass as a woman’s shrill shriek pierced the air.

_Show time._

The left side of his lips twitched up wickedly as he ran toward the sound. He loved it when action simply fell into his lap. Although the hunt was always fun as well.

Hurrying down a few blocks, the screams abruptly stopped and the unmistakable clatter of fighting reached his ears. From the sound of it there were at least a dozen men, perhaps more.

_Seems like this one isn’t going down easy. Good for her._

Rounding the corner he arrived at the scene, but stopped dead in his tracks. The busty girl he had seen in class earlier was passed out in a corner, however that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Standing in the alleyway was the flame-haired teen from earlier, panting slightly, his school bag abandoned to his right. Surrounding him were the unconscious bodies of about seven men, and some of them were quite injured. The teen, aside from a cut on his forehead and grazed knuckles, looked out of breath but otherwise fine.

“What the fuck?” Grimmjow muttered stupidly, eyes still glued to the scene. His sharp eyes picked out the brands on the unconscious men’s skin: these men were drones. Humans persuaded by vampires to do their bidding.

Those wide eyes met his and Grimmjow felt a jolt of something close to recognition course down his spine.

“Hello. I’m Ichigo Kurosaki.” A hand was proffered in his direction, conversationally, as if this were a totally normal situation.

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaques,” he responded, nonplussed as they shook hands.

“Yeah I know,” the other answered, a scowl on his face, “It’s hard to forget the new student with bright-ass blue hair.”

Grimmjow snorted as they let go. The teen talked big considering his own particular brand of safety-cone orange.

“Mind telling me what happened here?”

“Hell if I know. These guys were after Inoue,” the teen was kneeling by the girl at this point, checking her pulse, “I think they might be in some kind of gang?”

 “How is she?” Grimmjow inquired.

 “She seems to be fine, just in shock,”

 “Ninjas!” the girl shot up, a look of terror on her face, grey eyes wide and worried.

 “Its fine,” Kurosaki soothed, “You’re safe. I’ll walk you home.”

 “Thanks Ichigo,” she simpered, getting to her feet.

Grimmjow watched as the odd pair made their way down the street. He didn’t know if he should follow them or not. Was this part of the job? And how had that kid taken out so many men? Perhaps he was the one preying on the girls.

The thought made his stomach churn. The teen, Kurosaki, seemed much too innocent for that. Grimmjow couldn’t feel the nauseating sense of evil that unsettled his insides, as he usually did around demons. As a matter of fact, he got a warm feeling, like hot chocolate on a cold day, settling in the bottom of his stomach. There was something pleasant about those eyes.

He flipped one of the men over onto his back with a quick flick of his foot to get a better view of the brand. A reddish-purple insignia burnt into the nape of his neck; upon closer inspection it looked like some kind of flower. A rose? It didn’t really look like one, it looked more like lilac. But the wrong colour. Grimmjow didn’t know. Once the person branded lost consciousness the persuasive spell usually broke upon awakening. And Grimmjow had to be honest; the teen had done a pretty good job of knocking the men out.

Just as he made up his mind to follow the pair he heard a grunt and a thud, then again the shrill shriek.

Breaking into a sprint he arrived to the acrid smell of burnt rubber as a grey car screeched away, leaving an unconscious ginger behind.

An unconscious safety-cone-orange-haired teen.

“Huggnnuh.” No longer out cold, the figure groaned and got stumbled to his feet, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.

Grimmjow gave the lead pipe that was laying on the ground a kick. It was solid as hell, and had most probably been used to knock the kid out.

_Who the hell was he? What the hell is he?_

“Damn it! They got Inoue!” he swore, then noticed Grimmjow. “Did you get a good look at the car? The punks snuck up on me from behind.”

“Nah. I was gonna ask you the same.” A quick shake of the head as his sharp eyes looked down the now empty street.

“All I saw was that it was a Honda. A large grey one. But I didn’t get to see the number plate or anything. Damn it,” he swore again, “I should call the police…” his voice trailed off, before picking up with a vengeance. “Damn it, we don’t have time!”

“Don’t worry, I got this.” Grimmjow confidently took a black flip phone out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons.

“Yeah Cifer, it’s me. Yeah you know that favour I did you a while back? Time to repay it. I don’t care if it’s a bad time! Yeah I’m in K-Town, O. R. between Taylor Street and Fifth, looking for a grey Honda grabbing a girl. It just happened! Fine. Time. Eighteen fifty-two.”

Ichigo was slightly incredulous, the skin between his eyes creasing as he watched the other nod his head twice and flip the phone shut before setting off up the road in a run. He shook his head somewhat before following, his pace matching the others with no problem.

* * *

***

* * *

“Are you sure this is the place?” Ichigo looked up at the suburban house, just a carbon copy of the others that lined the streets.

“Did I ask you to follow me? No. So just shut up and stay out of my way.” Grimmjow stalked around the house to get to the back.

“Bastard,” Ichigo hissed as he cautiously followed, “Don’t treat me like a kid.”

“I’ll stop when you stop acting like one. Now, for the second time, shut up.” He ignored the “bastard”: he had heard much worse.

They slunk round and he proceeded to jack the backdoor open. The stomach rolling stench that reached their noses as it creaked open was suspicious enough to convince Ichigo that this was not a normal white-picket-fence home.

“Christ,” the blue-haired teen muttered, “I haven’t smelt one this bad since Florida. Must be a nest.”

“Um, a nest of what?”

“Vampires.” Came the passive reply.

Grimmjow turned to see how the kid would take that little piece of information. Surprisingly, all he did was widen his eyes slightly before they narrowed and his usual scowl reasserted itself on his face.

They walked into the dark utility room, the countertops covered in at least a couple of inches of dusty dredge. An appraising eye took in the remains in the washing machine, and once he determined that they were animal he preferred not to investigate further. Candle wax smeared across the floor and into the kitchen, where several blood-encrusted carving knives were abandoned on the floor.

Muffled voices could be heard from below, and Grimmjow motioned for Ichigo to stop moving as he cocked an ear.

“ _Twilight, the hour of our lady approaches. Prepare the offering.”_

Shuffling and scraping noises travelled up to the two teenagers. Grimmjow continued into the living room where a trapdoor was lying obviously open. _God, they are such amateurs,_ he internally complained. But then again, seeing as he had untrained company maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

All this sneaking around was getting to him, he was twitchy and again felt that cloying claustrophobia. Ever headlong and heedless, he couldn’t keep this façade up.

_Fuck it._

With a reckless roar he leaped down the trapdoor, landing squarely on his rubber soled feet. A shiver of thrill tumbled down his spine as the adrenaline arose: two black hooded and shadowy figures rushed him.

Curved ebony talons glinted malevolently in the meagre light as they slashed at his flesh, not quite reaching him as he moved infinitesimally.

Much more like it.

Grimmjow bared his own small jagged canines as he whipped his slender silver blade out of his side pocket. In an expert motion his weapon sliced through flesh and bone, sleek and swift. With a slick sound, it slid to the ground, but he didn’t spare it a second glance. Whirling around he faced the second, whose cruel claws were attempting to carve into his back. A jarring noise of fingernails on a chalkboard bounced off the walls as the talons got stuck in the thick leather of his jacket. Grimmjow thrust his weapon into its heart without hesitation.

The dust the undead creatures dissolved into didn’t even have time to settle as he set off into the dank depths of the cellar.

That was until he heard an ominous thud from behind him and had to stop and twist in his tracks, blade up in a defensive position.

He relaxed as he saw an orange head of hair picking himself up off of the ground. The teen’s whole body was trembling and his eyes wider than usually.

In the excitement of the fight Grimmjow had clean forgotten his hanger-on.

He watched as the figure visibly composed himself, scowl plastered back across his face.

“Stupid shoes,” he heard the other grumble beneath his breath. Although the words were banal enough, he had a feeling there was something else behind them.

However, it was true Kurosaki wasn’t exactly equipped to be taking on a vampire nest; his black fake converses had no grip on the blood-slicked ground and his one strap schoolbag was still hanging off his right shoulder. His thin black hoodie wasn’t exactly plate-mail. As he approached Grimmjow the other couldn’t help but squint at the strange object the ginger had in his hand. When he identified it he almost burst out laughing. Almost. He had enough self-awareness to realise that would be inappropriate.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing with that wrench?”

Grimmjow barely had time to get the question out before the teen lunged at him. Faster than he ever expected him to move. His eyes widened as Ichigo’s impromptu weapon crushed the pale forehead of a fanged creature with a sickening crunch and an even more nauseating squelch that meant it had reached brain matter. The creature had been attempting to sneak up on him whilst he had his back turned. The teen had more strength than he had assumed at first glance as well.

“This.” The other tried to deadpan; his voice was steady but the greyish tinge to his face wasn’t all from the lack of light in the passage way.

Grimmjow dispassionately stabbed the creature through the heart and it turned to old dust before their eyes, adding to the greasy consistency of the ground beneath their feet. So long as the other didn’t throw up, he should be fine. Ichigo’s eyes grew wide again as the body dissolved and Grimmjow sent him a trademark smirk.

“You gotta stab them through the heart with silver or decapitate them; else they’ll just eventually regenerate.”

The other nodded and furrowed his brow again, silently following Grimmjow as he turned back to the passage and continued on his way into the obscurity, bright eyes picking out the way forward.

Grimmjow was impressed despite himself. The teen had grit. But his expression was quickly replaced with a scowl: he didn’t get attached. The other was just dead weight, a civilian, and would just eventually get in the way. Everybody did.

They disposed of a couple more creatures on the way with precise movements, Kurosaki proving to be surprisingly fluid to work with. He could incapacitate the attackers with a couple simple moves, leaving Grimmjow open to take them out with sharp deadly blows. Although the greyish tinge hadn’t faded from his face, he seemed less disturbed with each wretched creature they got rid of.

Before long the darkness was less dark as they came to a candlelit cavern occupied by three more cowl clad figures gathered around a stone slab.

 _God this is so cliché,_ Grimmjow grumbled to himself.

“Inoue!” Ichigo yelled as he recognised the prone figure chained to it.

Grimmjow sighed as the orange-haired teen chucked his bag to the floor and rushed selflessly to the figures. Three distinct vampires, and not the meagre pawns they had previously encountered, but fully fledged ones, were going to smash the kid to pulp and dance in his remains if Grimmjow didn’t do something about it. He briefly regretted not knocking the kid unconscious before it got to this point, but the past was the past and right now Kurosaki was about to get eaten by some demon spawn. In a most gruesome manner.

As Ichigo attempted to swing his wrench like a sword (and failed dismally) Grimmjow used the distraction to discreetly remove something that looked suspiciously like a grenade from his jacket pocket.

Grade A holy water vaporiser, courtesy of Scarecrow Inc.

The steam hit the vampires like acid spray and inhuman shrieks filled the air as their skin began to bubble and blister. In the confusion, Kurosaki managed to use his wrench to his advantage, taking a ghastly chunk out of the one nearest to him. Brain matter slid out in a gruesome slew of gore and the creature turned its still snarling face to the kid, lunging in a supernatural blur. Deep crimson eyes set in a paper skull glared as Kurosaki flew across the cavern and hit the far wall like a ragdoll. The creature advanced upon him, his right hand morphing into cruel claws, those fingernails blackened and sharp as thorns. The black extended up the skeletal arm, pulsating purple veins clearly visibly against the unholy skin.

_“Twilight is here. We must have a heart for our lady. This one is pretty, she will like it.”_

The aberrant pitch of his voice sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine as he tried to scramble out of his path.

“Who are you calling pretty you obnoxious punk!” His strong tone cut through the unnatural atmosphere like a clear bell.

The fiery teen got to his feet, not going down without a fight. His plan of distracting them from Inoue was working, and he was pretty sure he could take this one.

Near the cavern entrance Grimmjow had his hands full with the two remaining vampires. They were weakened by the holy water, but also enraged. They circled around him, dark purple cloaks billowing behind them ominously. Grimmjow thought they looked like overgrown bats. One’s hood had fallen down, and its blood red eyes were slits against a pale face. Large curved fangs, cracked and stained went down to the chin, cutting into its own paper-thin flesh. His face was twisted into an inhuman snarl.

“God, you really are ugly creatures.” He taunted, “No wonder you stay down hidden down here. If I were you I would be too ashamed to show my face too!”

With that last phrase he lunged forward, bright dagger sharp and ready in his right palm. The vampire hissed as the cold metal sliced through its upper chest. The other charged Grimmjow, diving for his exposed neck with his deadly daggered teeth. Grimmjow ducked and turned, bringing his left hand up from where it had been hidden in his jacket pocket. The vampire found itself nose to nose with the barrel of a sawn-off shotgun.

“Get your ugly mug outta face you fucker,” Grimmjow snarled as he pulled the trigger.

The force of the point blank shot threw him backwards into the remaining creature. Bits of decayed flesh rained down on him like putrefied profane hail: the shot had decimated the vampire’s head. The body stood headless for a split-second before crumbling into nothing, as if it had never been.

Something sharp pierced Grimmjow’s shoulder and he let out an enraged growl.

_The fucker bit me!_

His anger grew tenfold as he pulled the creature off his shoulder with brute force, pissed beyond belief that it dared to break his skin. The air around him almost crackled with electricity, an aura of annoyance intensifying into something tangible. His eyes glowed with an unnatural rage, deepening to cold cobalt.

The worthless creature in front of him cringed, animal instinct knowing superior predator when it saw one. And the aura Grimmjow was suddenly exuding was scarily menacing.

 _“Lady of the Twilight, our lady Envy, please deliver me from this end with your boundless grace and mercy…”_ it began to babble incessantly, his own fangs making haematic slashes in his haste.

“Mercy? You don’t deserve mercy, demon.” Grimmjow looked down disdainfully at the creature and cocked his weapon.

 _“Lady of the Twilight…”_ It gurgled as the blue-eyed teen shot it without blinking. The top half of its head exploded in a loud cloud of carnage. Grimmjow didn’t even wait for the body to disintegrate as he turned and advanced upon the remaining vampire.

Kurosaki was desperately writhing underneath it as the vampire’s blackened talons began to pierce the soft flesh of his chest with sickeningly slow precision. He was pinned down by an unconceivable strength and no matter how he struggled he couldn’t break free. Out of the corner of his eye he saw blue hair sprinting toward them.

Agonized shrieks filled the air and the vampire that had been above him jerked back as though burnt.

Ichigo watched in disbelief as the creature’s right hand began to bubble and blister before becoming entirely engulfed in scalding flames. His nostrils twitched as the scent of burning flesh filled the air and acrid smoke rose from the screaming figure.

Crimson eyes turned to him and it hacked out three tortured words before becoming entirely consumed in a pillar of fire.

_“What are you?”_

The hissed words echoed throughout the silent cavern and Ichigo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight, transfixed.

Then the bright bonfire was gone and nothing remained but darkened ashes and the lingering scent of burnt flesh.

Grimmjow remained frozen in his tracks. Slowly his eyes readjusted to the dim lighting, their colour changing back to normal, and sought out Kurosaki’s.

He too was frozen in place, half lying on the floor, one arm propping him up the other hand clutched at his chest. His eyes met Grimmjow’s and again the blue-haired teen felt that electric current spark between them.

Then Kurosaki groaned and pushed his way to his feet, and the contact was broken. The flame-haired kid stumbled toward Inoue who was still passed out on the ceremonial slab, limbs held in place by iron chains crisscrossed across her body and locked by a huge padlock in the middle. Halfway there, he teetered and fell to his knees. Grimmjow watched as he dry heaved, once, agonizingly harsh, before forcing himself back up.

“A little help?” The teen spat in his direction, leaning slightly against the slab, body still visibly trembling.

Shaking himself, Grimmjow unfroze. He walked to Kurosaki’s side, and with each step his heart calmed a little more as the adrenaline ebbed from his body.

“Stand back,” he ordered pointing the gun at the place where the chain met the rock.

“What the fuck?” Kurosaki looked at him, whisky eyes dancing incredulously in the candle light. “Don’t do that, you’ll bloody blow her to pieces.”

Grimmjow stood aside as he heard Kurosaki muttering something about uncouth barbarians under his breath and watched him fiddle around, hands now steady.

“Yeah, because you so _obviously_ know what you’re doing,” Grimmjow drawled. He was getting cranky: the dank darkness of this cavern was getting on his already frayed nerves and his shoulder ached like hell. He didn’t know what to do: he never did this with anyone else.

“Shut up,” the other hissed.

Grimmjow watched as Kurosaki removed one of Inoue’s blue flower hairpins and inserted it in the lock.

“You think you’re gonna pick the lock,” Grimmjow snorted, “Sorry to burst your bubble kid but…” his voice trailed off as with a small pop the metal part that connected the padlock was loosened.

With a sidelong grin aimed at Grimmjow that showed far too much teeth and far too little warmth Ichigo began to unwrap the girl.

Feeling restless, the blue-haired demon slayer meandered to the far wall of the cavern where he noticed a small wooden door on unsteady hinges. He pushed it open as Kurosaki came up behind him, Inoue in a fireman’s hold over his right shoulder, school bag clutched in his left.

The door creaked open to reveal a small room that was lavishly decorated. Deep red rugs hid the cold stone floor and sandalwood scented candles perfumed the rotten air. A four-poster bed took up almost all of the space, plush with deep violet blankets and pillows.

But what made the breath catch in Grimmjow’s throat and Ichigo almost drop the girl over his shoulder was not the surprise of finding such a room in the underground lair of vampires.

No, it was the enormous painting that took up all of one wall, of a beautiful woman with porcelain skin and deep mauve eyes, hair of the same colour cascading down her back. In front of this, almost like an altar, were jar upon jar, each containing a heart. Obviously human hearts, purple and precisely cleaned.

 _“Lady of the Twilight,”_ Ichigo breathed, reading the plaque beneath the portrait.

“Aww, looks like my fun has been ruined.” A woman’s voiced chimed from behind the boys, causing them to whirl around.

Grimmjow instantly had his knife at her slender throat as she let out a deep throaty chuckle.

“Now now boys, I don’t want to hurt you. At least, not you blue.” Her eyes focused on Ichigo, looking him up and down. “You on the other hand…well, you are far too pretty to be allowed to live.”

She sighed and batted Grimmjow away with a flick of her hand. He went sprawling across the murky floor as if he were feather light. Ichigo remained where he was, watching the woman with narrowed eyes, wondering what she would do next.

One willowy hand came up, a delicate finger extended toward Ichigo.

“How I would love to brand you with my amaranthine, my pretty, but that will have to wait. I am much too busy to deal with you now. All I want is to get my offerings and go.”

She waltzed past Ichigo in a haze of sandalwood and something sweeter, gathered the jars and was gone before either of the teenagers could blink.

A sentence lingered behind her as she disappeared.

“Oh and Lady of the Twilight is what those love-riddled fools call me. You can call me Circucci. Come find me sometime.”

The two gritty teenagers were stunned into silence. A loud silence, which echoed off the walls and between them which they couldn’t break. There was nothing to say. There was too much to say. A couple of minutes went by with nothing happening aside from Grimmjow getting up off the floor and silently sheathing his knife. The silence was broken by another feminine voice.

Inoue stirred from her place on Ichigo’s shoulder.

“Why does it smell like barbeque?”

* * *

***

* * *

Grimmjow watched Kurosaki dejectedly go through his school bag in the booth opposite him. After taking a taxi to accompany Inoue home, he had suggested going to a twenty-four-seven diner.

He had some questions to ask the tangerine-haired teen.

“Noo, my Shakespeare! It is fuckin’ ruined.” He put the blood-stained book on the table and stared at it dismally.

Grimmjow looked at him incredulously.

“ _That_ is what you’re complaining about? We just took down a vampire nest, got owned by a purple-eyed-demon-woman, my shoulder hurts like hell and you somehow set one on fire whilst it tried to remove your heart and you’re complaining that your _book_ got ruined?”

Large doe eyes looked up at him miserably. Grimmjow remembered him retching on the ground. He realised it probably wasn’t just the book.

“It was the _complete_ works of William Shakespeare.” He gave a heartfelt sigh and attempted to open it. The pages were stuck together with blood and slime and it made a sad squelching noise.

“It’s a lost cause orange,” Grimmjow snorted.

“Ha ha blue,” the other shot him a glare as their food arrived.

The lone waitress took their bedraggled, stained appearance in and left as soon as she put the food on the table, almost tripping over in her haste.

They picked at their burgers in silence.

“So what do you think Kurosaki?” Grimmjow questioned.

“Well, the word _twilight_ has officially been ruined, but it already was before tonight. In fact, tonight might have improved it. Instead of evoking sparkly vampires now it will evoke human sacrifice…” Ichigo trailed off, lost in thought.

Grimmjow stared at him blankly.

“Huh?”

“You never heard of Twilight? The books, the films? Have you been living under a rock?”

Another blank stare.

The orange-haired teen sighed. “Never mind.”

“I meant, what d’ya think of…” Grimmjow made some vague hand gesture, unsure of what he meant himself.

“What do I think of what? The fact you’re a kind of male Buffy?” Ichigo smirked.

Grimmjow choked on his bite of burger, spraying bits of bun on the table between them.

“Well that’s one I haven’t heard before. You’re alright.”

“And you’re a jerk.” Caramel eyes narrowed.

“I just saved you and your girlfriend’s asses – you should be kissing my feet not insulting me!” Grimmjow retorted.

“Sod off. She’s not my girlfriend, and I never asked you to save me! Screw this,” Ichigo stood up and grabbed his ruined bag. “I’m going home.”

His hoodie had burn marks where the vampire had tried to claw his heart out, his orange hair was dull with dirt and his shoes were barely held together. In fact Grimmjow would bet his burger the only thing keeping them on his feet was the blood/mud mix that was as strong as glue.

“You might wanna clean up before your parents see you like that,” Grimmjow suggested, not wanting the kid to leave on such a hostile note.

He watched Kurosaki freeze before continuing his way.

“I don’t have to worry about that. They’re dead.” His voice was clinical, as if talking about the weather.

And with that he left.

 _Shit,_ Grimmjow cursed to himself, finishing his food before grabbing Kurosaki’s. Food was food after all. And it looked as though he was going to end up paying for it. Thank God for the company card.

 _I’ll just have to corner him at school._ He mused, his curiosity about the teen far from being satisfied. Still, it had been a good day.

The Demon Destroyer took a bite of his burger, one step closer to his goal.

He did not notice the slanted eyes, nor their owner, on the pavement opposite the diner, observing him with unsettling appraisal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Bleached Flowers flutter upon Scorched Bones

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Bleach that honour belongs to Tite Kubo

 

* * *

The plan to furtively find out more about Kurosaki was failing dismally. Days slid by and all he caught were glimpses of the elusive teen in a few of their shared classes. It seemed he had changed places so as to get as far away as humanly possible. It could have been an unlucky coincidence.

 Grimmjow didn’t believe in coincidences. The universe was far too clever for that.

 He furrowed his eyebrows and weighed the information he already had. From what he saw of Kurosaki he wasn’t the kind to have after-school clubs or to be doing homework in the library, yet that said he didn’t really know much about him. His eyebrows furrowed further.

 The orange-haired teen did his best to avoid him since that night when they rescued the girl; he didn’t seem to each lunch in the cafeteria, he kept his head down and was quiet in lessons and whenever Grimmjow approached him in the hallways he disappeared like smoke. It was quite disconcerting.

 He would have preferred to talk directly to Kurosaki himself, but as he was making it painfully clear he didn’t want anything to do with Grimmjow, he decided he would have to resort to second-hand information. Although he rarely liked people, they appeared to not mind him.

 He lounged outside the school gate much as a large cat sunning itself at the end of the day. The gaggle of girls who had started tracking him from the first day appeared to harass him. As they squawked and flapped and giggled, he surreptitiously began his investigation.

 “So what’s up with that orange-haired kid?” he asked innocently, letting a small amount of disinterest slip into his tone. His manner was friendly and engaging, body language open. Blue eyes reflected the colour of the crisp autumn sky back at his audience.

 “Oh Kurosaki?” one of the more confident girls wrinkled her nose, “he’s nobody. I mean, he is kinda cute but his personality sucks. He’s such a dork.”

 “Hmm?” Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. Interesting. From what he had seen the teen was anything but a “dork” as she put it.

 “Yeah and ever since the accident he doesn’t speak to anyone. Not even Inoue and she is still obsessed with him.”

 “Where is Orihime anyway?” One of the smaller mousy girls asked.

 “Staying at her aunt’s. Apparently something happened last week – that airhead probably knocked herself out with her own boob or something.”

 The confident girl (or the head goose, as Grimmjow had come to call her) snickered and the others followed. Again, he wondered if he were indeed from a different species. These girls were just like a pack of large, spiteful birds.

 “What accident?” he insisted, leaning in conspiratorially to the first girl, watching her blush from his closeness. Her pupils dilated as she looked him straight in the eye; they were annoyingly easy to manipulate.

 “Well,” she giggled, “Actually it was quite the drama. You see, there was a mass murder at the Kurosaki Clinic, and then it mysteriously burnt down. The police were totally stumped, no survivors and no evidence. No wonder Kurosaki is so messed up eh?”

 “He’s always holed up in the library. The bore works there I think. School probably took pity on him.” Another girl commented.

 “He should probably be in a psychiatric hospital,” the smaller girl piped up.

 “Yeah that’s right, the trauma could make him dangerous,” the other replied.

 “Well I have big bad Grimmjow to protect me,” the self-assured girl said, grasping said teen’s arm and wrapping it around her shoulders.

 Grimmjow swallowed a scathing remark about that not being the only big bad thing about him and briskly untangled himself. And people called _him_ callous.

 “Well thanks for the chat girls, I should be going.” With another devastating smile that caused a couple of them to swoon, he sauntered off, broad shoulders cutting a striking figure in the bright sunlight.

 As soon as he rounded the corner it was as if the sun went behind a cloud. His usual aloof demeanour took over, and the inviting aura darkened to something more menacing, yet nonetheless enticing.

  _It is almost too easy._

 Why on earth were these girls attracted to something as dangerous as him? Grimmjow blamed modern stereotypes. Ever since Kurosaki’s comments, he had decided to catch up with the past few years cult phenomena. It was actually painful how misleading it all was. Hollows were not to be taken lightly.

So Kurosaki worked at the library? That would explain why he could never corner him. The story about his past was disturbing to say the least. Had both his parents died in the accident? And a mass murder at a clinic? It sounded strange. Grimmjow had nothing but questions, and hated that fact. The teen was a total mystery, and the further he looked into it the less he understood.

 Back at his flat he settled on the small hard bed and decided to do some digging with the aid of his laptop (thanks neighbours for the free internet). It warmed his strong thighs as he scrolled down the pixelated screen. Research was something he hated but had to do; there was something very off about the whole situation, from the way Kurosaki fought to the circumstances that seemed to surround him.

 A Google search and a couple of newspaper articles later, Grimmjow sat in his tiny apartment, head between his hands and in desperate need of a beer. His throat was parched, his eyes stung from the harsh light of the screen, and the even harsher reality that was dawning upon him. After a couple more minutes of processing what he believed he had just discovered he got up and grabbed a green bottle from the small fridge.

 Christ. The situation was eerily familiar.

 He took a sip of the cool liquid, feeling it slide down his throat. The condensation on the bottle made his hand clammy. He wiped it absently on his jeans, leaving darker blue fingerprints on his leg, as if someone had grabbed him.

 Isshin Kurosaki and his twelve-year-old twin daughters, Yuzu and Karin, were all at the family clinic the summer but last when the events had occurred. Whatever went down in the clinic was beyond ordinary, because multiple weapons were found in the wreckage, and Isshin’s remains – the bones that remained that is – showed signs of being _hacked_ with a large curved weapon. Everybody that was being treated had died before the fire, either from gun wounds or, even more disturbing than Isshin’s fate, massive _bite_ marks. As if they had been _eaten_. According to what could be deciphered from the remnants of the computer, there were eight admitted patients at the clinic. All around age eight to eighty.

 The corpses were far too decimated by the fire to identify anyone, and the only things they could salvage were a few teeth. Even so, the oddest fact was that everyone was accounted for who should have been there, and there was an extra person who died that day. The police had assumed it to be one of the killers, but Grimmjow wasn’t so sure.

 Memories were streaming back, screams and shouts and blood and flames. He could smell the acrid smell of unnatural fire and absently pinched the bridge of his nose. Grimmjow was practically sure the same group that massacred Kurosaki’s family had been responsible for the death of his own. The situation was far too similar.

 As he said, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

 That curved wound…Grimmjow scratched at his neck unconsciously.

 If that was so, the death of Kurosaki’s family had nothing to do with the ordinary realm of bloodthirsty humans. It was something much darker, much older, much worse.

 Grimmjow hoped he wasn’t right, yet the need to confirm his suspicions was like a magnetic pull, giving him no choice but to go to the scene of the fire. It would be simple enough to check the site of the slaughter and see if the fire left any spiritual residue. If the flames had indeed been unnatural, Grimmjow would be able to tell from the soot.

 Finishing his beer, he shrugged his dependable leather jacket back on and slipped his boots onto his feet. They were sturdy and wearable, the grip saving his life more than once in a fight. Leather too, as if nature provided for the battle that was life.

 His shoulder panged very faintly from the piercing bite but Grimmjow ignored it. He was highly resilient to all things demonic, and vampires were no different. A normal human would have been poisoned by the bite, but then again Grimmjow was no ordinary human.

 He was a hunter, a slayer, a destroyer.

 And right now, he had found a clue to a trail that had been cold for three long years.

* * *

***

* * *

It was almost dark by the time Grimmjow was a block away from where the clinic would have stood. He could hear voices, not words but the tones carried on the slight fragrant wind. A low, menacing voice and two scared ones. The twilight made the scene ominous.

  _Nothing is ever simple,_ Grimmjow silently complained, jogging toward the source of the commotion.

 Grimmjow stopped as déjà vu struck him.

 Kurosaki was standing in front of the cowering bodies of three wanna-be-tough guys.

 “You’re a stone-cold psycho!” one of them blubbered.

 Kurosaki just looked at him with cold eyes.

 “I have two questions for you,” he said, his soft voice containing more than just a threat. “Question one: what is that?” he gestured to one side and Grimmjow followed his movement.

 Suddenly he began to understand the situation.

 “An, an offering for some dead people?” one of them ventured stupidly.

 Kurosaki kicked him in the side.

 “Bravo. Question Two: why is that vase lying on its side?” Perhaps vase was too fancy a word: there was a glass soda bottle lying next to a lamppost, and three white crumpled flowers lay despondently near it.

 Comprehension appeared to be dawning on the pathetic punks as well.

 “We’re sorry! We’re sorry! We’ll never do it again! Don’t hurt us!” they backed away gibbering, getting to their feet before fleeing, tails between their legs.

Grimmjow watched silently as Kurosaki sighed and ran a hand through his vibrant hair. The sigh seemed to emanate from the very core of his body, and shouldn’t be coming out of the throat of a seventeen year old. In his left hand were three pure white flowers.

 The ginger teen retrieved the bottle and stood it up against the lamppost, reverently placing the flowers in it. They fell gently against the rim, pristine and incongruous against the soiled steel backdrop.

 He straightened as Grimmjow approached, eyes never leaving the flowers.

 “What do you want, Jaegerjaques?” he asked quietly, not turning around.

 The blue-haired teen shoved his slender hands deep into the coarse pockets of his jeans, and surveyed the scene blankly. The entire area where the clinic must have once stood was black as tar. There were still miserable scraps in the rubble: a bent bedframe here, a charred piece of paper there, reflected in the fading light of day. Nothing living, not even weeds had attempted to grow, as if the very ground had been rendered totally barren.

 It had.

 Grimmjow could see a faint glimmer out of the corner of his eye, but he could never fully focus on it. That glimmer meant this fire was of a supernatural nature. It had probably caused by an elemental.

 His stomach dropped as if he swallowed a lead weight as his suspicions were wretchedly confirmed.

 He had only ever seen one site like this before, and that was three years ago.

 “I know you’ve been avoiding me,” he began hesitantly, not sure how to proceed. He couldn’t read Kurosaki like the others and it made him slightly uneasy.

 “Yeah. Because you’re an annoying jerk,” was the retort.

 Grimmjow noticed his eyes flickered too in the unnatural light cast by the remains. He could see it too.

 “Maybe. I know what happened here.”

 Kurosaki whirled around, scowling like Grimmjow had never seen before. Those hard eyes engrained themselves unbidden into his brain, and the uneasiness grew tenfold.

 “Oh yeah?” the orange-haired teen sneered, “Then tell me Jaegerjaques. Tell me what happened to my family. Tell me why they all died horrible, agonising deaths. Tell me why the fire still hasn’t gone out, despite the fact it happened over a year ago. Tell me.”

 Grimmjow looked at the rage and pain dancing in those hazel eyes that pierced his own so completely that he felt lost for breath.

 “The fire wasn’t…isn’t natural. I can see it too, not that well, but the glimmer out of the corner of my eye. I’ve seen it before,” he swallowed before continuing.

 Those eyes continued their persecution, and Grimmjow realised there was no way forward but the truth. One he never told. He needed to know what Kurosaki knew, and the only way he could get the other to open up was to give up a little information. Fuck.

 “Once before. My village…they destroyed my village too. Three years ago.” His voice cracked slightly but he stared straight back into those eyes, defiant.

 Kurosaki clenched his fists and grit his teeth and Grimmjow tensed, expecting a punch.

 Instead, the other let out a long sigh and rolled his shoulders.

 “I’m sorry. Being here does nothing good for my temper. I’m not letting you go without an explanation though – my flat is around the corner if you wanna come?”

 Lost for a count, the demon slayer relaxed slightly. But not completely.

 “Don’t sweat it. Yeah, I’d rather not speak about this…out in the open.” Grimmjow glanced around the slowly darkening streets – the lampposts hadn’t turned on yet, standing like silent sentinels along the road.

 They walked in silence, footsteps barely making any noise on the asphalt streets. Kurosaki was still wearing his crappy shoes from the night before, although it looked like he had attempted to wash them.

* * *

 

 ***

* * *

“You want something to drink?”

 Grimmjow watched the teen throw his bag onto the floor and kick his sorry shoes off next to the door as he wandered into the kitchen area of the small studio apartment. He took in his surroundings slowly. The place was absolutely full of books. They were stacked in shelves, spilling out into crooked stacks on the floor. A dozen were scattered on the fold-out sofa bad, nestled between grey sheets and a couple of pillows, open on seemingly random pages. A white board was hanging off the side of the bed, full of curved scribblings and arrows. More tomes were on the table pushed against the wall in the corner and several precariously balanced on the two chairs that were either end of said table. He suddenly had no trouble believing that the fiery teen worked in the library.

 Ichigo put the kettle on and looked expectantly at Grimmjow, moving one of the piles from the chair to his bed.

 “Coffee is fine,” he said, taking the free seat.

 “I only have instant; I’m more of a tea person.” he replied.

 “S’fine,” he watched as the other quickly got two mugs and soon enough he had a steaming cup in his hand.

 Grabbing a couple of sugars that Kurosaki had placed in front of him he plopped them into the murky black liquid. For the lack of a better conversation starter, he gestured to the bed and whiteboard.

 “So what’s all this?”

 Ichigo looked a little sheepish and his eyes slid to the floor. Grimmjow couldn’t help but be curious. He got up to further investigate.

 “It’s research,” the other replied hastily.

 “On what? For a school paper…” his words died out as he read _heart consumption, vampires, slayers…_

He turned around, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

 “You’ve been researching me?!”

 “Don’t flatter yourself,” Kurosaki shrugged nonchalantly, “you, yeah, but mostly those creatures. I don’t want to be caught off guard again. Anyway,” he continued, “I know you were asking about me.”

 Grimmjow didn’t even deign to answer, simply taking a sip of the coffee, before pulling a face.

 “I warned you it was instant,” Kurosaki’s tone bordered on “I told you so”.

 “Right.”

 The silence was getting awkward as they both skirted around the issue. Finally Grimmjow broke it.

 “So, how are you feeling?”

 Kurosaki looked at him incredulously.

 “On a scale of one to ten? Life sucks.”

 “Oh. Vampire pun. You are funny.” His voice was flat but to be honest, he had an internal grin going on. “So, you can see the flames too?”

 “Yeah. Well, not flames exactly. They’re like,” he made some kind of sweeping gesture with his arm, “embers. They glow, even in the rain. It melts snow.”

 “Mmm. So you can actually see them properly.”

 “I thought you could too?”

 “Well, almost. You see, it is a kind of left over residue from an extremely high amount of spiritual pressure. Even if you have the ability to see it, there is a certain trick to seeing clearly. Your eyes have to be slightly unfocussed, like trying to spot dust particles in a ray of sunlight. If your vision isn’t just so, you look straight past it. The majority of the population have never seen it.”

 He watched as Kurosaki’s eyes unfocussed as he tried it out. He raised an eyebrow as the other started, spilling tea all over himself.

 “You…you’re…you have purple bits floating around you,” he finally managed to splutter.

 “Really? You shouldn’t be able to see those. Strange.”

 Grimmjow was confused. How could Kurosaki see…unless he wasn’t all human? But he definitely felt human. Grimmjow generally trusted his instincts. He let his eyes slide past, attempting to focus on the spiritual energy that could be in the room. He just wasn’t very good at it: he could only see slight glimmers at the edges of his vision back at the clinic’s ruins. Even after years of training, the only reason he could see it was inherited. Apparently Ichigo could see it properly, without training or prior knowledge.

 “No offense, but, I really don’t understand.” The question cut through his thoughts.

 “Well,” Grimmjow took another sip of his dismal beverage. “I am guessing because you spent a lot of time looking at the ruins, you eventually hit the right way to see the spirit particles. Even I can’t see them as well.”

 “And what does this have to do with the fire that killed…” his voice trailed off and the orange-haired teen stared into his empty mug.

 “It means that it was a deliberate attack. From demons.” Grimmjow was certain of that at any rate.

 “But…why? I don’t even know what to think anymore.” Kurosaki continued staring at his mug. “I don’t understand. Were they vampires? Were they the ones we killed?”

 “No. This was something, someone, else.” There was a question that had been gnawing at him since earlier. “How did you survive?”

 Kurosaki winced, eyes still downturned. His voice was low when he finally answered.

 “I was at a judo competition in the UK…I used to compete every summer. The day they died, I was getting awarded a gold medal.” Fingers clenched around the mug in a white-knuckled grip. “What was the point in a getting a medal when I wasn’t even there to protect them. In a way, the irony is laughable.” A grim mockery of a smile wracked his face.

 The two teens were far from laughing and the atmosphere in the flat was dark and heavy. Grief settled over everything like a tangible blanket of sorrow. Grimmjow could feel it pulling him under, that quiet despair and helplessness that he had spent a year clawing his way out of. He wasn’t going to succumb again.

 “Can you think of any reason, any unusual event, anything at all that would have attracted their attention?”

 There had to be a reason. These things weren’t just random. Not when demons were involved.

 The tense teen shook his head, and as he did it seemed to shake him out of his melancholy mood.

 “I want to find them.” There was steel in his statement, sounding more like a vow than a simple sentence. His eyes pierced him: once again they were hard, challenging, and defiant. He felt some animal instinct respond and his own sharpened.

 “Good. I do too. And right now, you are my only clue.”

 Ichigo’s eyes suddenly flashed with insight. He stalked toward him, leaving the cup behind on the table, and began to inspect Grimmjow’s hair.

 “Erm, what are you doing?” He wondered if he had pushed him too far. He knew people had a tendency to be fragile. All these touchy feelings made him itch.

 “Is that your natural hair colour?” There was intensity to that banal question that made it sound more important than it actually was.

 “Yes…” he was totally confused as understanding dawned on the other’s face.

 “You. You’re the clue.” He was still being cryptic.

 Kurosaki noticed the confusion on his face and began to explain:

 “Something unusual. A visitor. I had only seen him once before, when I was about seven. Anyway, he came by the day before I left for the competition. Had some heated conversation in my dad’s office, I just assumed he was an angry relative of a patient. Especially as he was referring to someone who had died.”

 Grimmjow still didn’t get it but let the other continue with his story. His annoyance seeped out though; his foot was tapping an impatient tattoo on the floor.

 “What? I’m getting there. As far as I can remember he was going on about having _“unfinished business”_ in California. Which is where my dad used to work at a hospital. In fact he was talking about a particular patient...” Kurosaki furrowed his brow, trying to remember, “My memory is pretty good with everything except names. It was a woman…something like Belle…”

 Then something clicked in Grimmjow’s brain.

 “Did he have blue hair?” His throat was dry as he forced the question out, already knowing the answer.

 “Yes. And his name was Dante.”

 All the colour drained out of his face, his foot stilled, and his heart was too big for chest.

 “Nel,” he said slightly woodenly. “That was her name.”

 “Oh, that was it,” Ichigo looked at him curiously, “But how would you know?”

 “Fuuuckk,” the word was one long breath, hissed between sharper than average teeth. A hand ran through his hair and his face twisted in a myriad of emotions. He breathed out loudly through his nose, a physical attempt to dispel the tension in his body.

 “I didn’t expect this. I knew it was connected because of the elemental flames…but this? Too much of a coincidence. Did the Soul Society…was Isshin…that can be the only explanation,” he muttered to himself.

 “I knew it was a connection. You are not making any sense whatsoever. What about my dad? What is the Soul Society? Are those elemental flames what I see every week?”

 Ichigo’s voice grew louder with each question, his eyes boring holes into Grimmjow as he searched for the answers.

 “I’m not exactly the best person to explain this, hell, even I don’t really understand. I never really listened to the history or lectures; I was more focussed on weapons training.” His hand went to his dagger, sheathed and hidden up his right sleeve.

 “Grimmjow my entire family was _murdered_ and then you suddenly show up with more cryptic information than an episode of the X-files. Tell. Me.”

 “Shit Ichigo. I’m not sure I _can_ tell you,” he snapped.

 They had somehow slipped into calling each other by their first names, linked by a subconscious bond. Neither noticed the names rolling of their tongues as if they had known each other for years.

 Thoughts ran through his head, flashing at a million miles an hour. Where could he begin? What would Ichigo believe? And he didn’t even know the half of the story. And the other would have so many questions. Plus the little fact he was sworn to secrecy on pain of death. Then again, the kid was already involved. More than involved, he was in so deep that Grimmjow actually owed him money for the other job. Well, he could start with that.

 “Okay. Well, first things first. Despite being green, you actually did me a favour last week in taking down that nest, even if we let the leader get away. I mean, I could have done it on my own…”

 Ichigo snorted dryly but Grimmjow chose to ignore it and continue.

 “Anyway, there is an … association of sorts, which specialises in demon hunting. Or as we refer to them, hollows. The organisation is called the Soul Society, and it has existed under many names throughout the years. One you may have heard of is the Knights of Solomon, or more commonly known as Templars.”

 Ichigo’s eyes widened in recognition and then narrowed in disbelief.

 “Seriously? You got attacked by vampires. Believe me, or else I won’t tell you anymore.” It was an empty threat.

 “Fine,” the orange-haired teen sighed, “but really this sounds a little crazy, even coming from you.”

 “Long story short we get sent requests and get rewarded for taking care of them. So, I technically owe you some money. I was thinking thirty per cent, as you did take one of them out, if unintentionally, so…three k.”

 He watched Kurosaki’s eyebrows shoot up, but the flame-haired kid kept his mouth shut.

 “Yeah the Society is loaded. Right, so now that is out of the way.”

 He took a deep breath and briefly met the other’s eyes before looking down at his feet. His own two feet, sturdy and capable; they grounded him.

 “Dante is…was…my father. Nel was my mother.”

  _Demon. Devil. Succubus. Whore._ The words swirled in his mind. He usually blocked them out. Blocked her out. Blocked him out. Focussed on the mission.

 Silence filled the small apartment and he could feel it pressing down, oppressive and judgemental and he remembered things he wished he didn’t. Sea-foam hair, the smell of soap, clashing swords, a lullaby. This silence was even heavier than earlier, a siren’s song, desiring to drag him into its depths.

  _Demon. Devil. Succubus. Whore._

 “As far as I am concerned, the man is dead to me. I know for a fact that my mother is.” He continued as to break the uncomfortable quiet, still staring down at his shoes, hands twisting and untwisting in his lap. Those slender fingers relieved what his face didn’t: uncertainty, anxiety; helplessness.

 A chair scraped along the linoleum floor. His eyes flickered up to see Kurosaki sitting opposite him, brown eyes warm and comforting. If he had happened to look properly, he would have noticed a faint golden sheen to them. But he didn’t, returning his gaze to his feet.

 “My mother is also dead. She died in childbirth,” he said softly.

 Something about Kurosaki’s presence made the snarling voices stop, made him feel as though he were relaxing in a warm bath of sunbeams, and made him blurt out something he swore to never tell anyone. Something about him was safe, comforting. It lulled him into a sense of security that no one else had, not for years.

 “She was a demon.”

 Brown eyes blinked slowly.

 It was much worse than that, but he couldn’t bring his mouth to say those words. So he kept it to himself.

 She wasn’t just any demon. He remembered the leering men, the crude remarks, the groping and the beatings he would get for defending her honour. She would just let it happen.

 When he was younger he had asked Shawlong about it. She had been a succubus. A demon whore. And, to make matters worse, he had offhandedly mentioned that once upon a time she had been their Queen.

 It left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was painful. Like having the same tooth pulled out over and over.

 His hands gripped each other and the words kept on pouring out, he couldn’t stop them, not even if he tried. He fleetingly wondered if shoving a fist in his mouth would help.

 “I was three when she died. She had that number tattooed on her back. It was my fault, I know it. It appeared when I was born and was a countdown. She gave her life for mine, I know it. And then Dante just left.”

 A voice, clear as a bell, cut through his thought stream and stopped him short.

 “It wasn’t your fault.” The words sliced through the aura of guilt and anger that surrounded the larger teen like a hot knife gliding through butter.

 “What?” Grimmjow asked dumbly, his brain feeling like sludge. _What is wrong with me? Why am I telling this stranger this?_ It felt like Kurosaki had cast a spell on him. This was so far out of character it was disturbing.

 “I said: it wasn’t your fault. My mother died giving birth to me, but these things happen. I felt guilty for the longest time but I realised that she gave me the gift of life and I wasn’t going to squander it. When my dad adopted my sisters I realised that I was being selfish, that there were others in the world worth protecting.” He looked pained for a moment, “there are still others out there worth protecting. Inoue for example,”

 It was simple. Kurosaki did know what it was like to lose everything. Grimmjow supposed that was why he felt like he could let his guard down around him. He still felt vulnerable after saying so much, and also a little self-conscious.

 “Enough personal revelations,” he muttered, attempting to cast off the atmosphere.

 Kurosaki stared at him for a second longer, then blinked and the tension between them slacked, fading until it wasn’t a taunt rope, just a loose cord, still connecting them all the same.

 A thought occurred to Grimmjow as he cast around for another topic of conversation.

 “Why do you have so many books?”

 Kurosaki looked at him hesitantly, but seem to come to a decision.

 “It’s easy to lose yourself in books. They don’t judge, they don’t care, they don’t pity; they just are. Books offer an escape from reality and allow time to pass without each second gnawing at your soul. And as time is the only thing that heals, don’t you think getting lost in them makes sense?”

 Grimmjow stared at the vibrant teenager who he had seen as being so full of life and light. He now saw him as the others must do, as someone who hid in the library, cornered off from the world, living in the imaginary. He felt anger boil in his stomach and leave a sour taste in his mouth.

 “No!” he replied vehemently. “What about life? It goes by with you even noticing. And anyway, time isn’t the only thing to help your hurt.”

 He grinned wickedly and in that moment Ichigo had no trouble believing that he was half-demon.

 “Revenge is just as sweet.”

* * *

***

* * *

They both sat at a table in the school library at Ichigo’s insistence they would be able to find out more here. It was around eight in the evening, but it was still open. Grimmjow had to admit, for a high-school library, it had a pretty decent section on the supernatural.

 “It’s not just a high-school library, it’s also the public library for K-town,” the quasi-librarian explained. “That’s why we have such a great selection. So anyway, take notes. First, we have to analyse the two situations and pick out all of the similarities.”

 Grimmjow dutifully wrote it down, but couldn’t finish due to attempting to muffle a laugh. Ichigo rolled his eyes at him and it burst out in raucous peels.

 “What is it,” the other hissed testily, “we’re in a library for God’s sake.”

 The blue-haired teen simply pushed the paper in Ichigo’s direction.

  _ANAL_ was as far as he had got.

 “Seriously? You’re a hardened hunter and that makes you giggle like a five-year old? Concentrate asshole.”

 “Don’t get your panties in a twist Kurosaki,” the other merely smirked.

 And back to last names they were.

 “So for the moment, Cirucci is the priority. She did make a threat to come after us. I’ve already amassed quite a lot of lore concerning heart eating, but none of it really seems to fit. I mean, there is the Quechua legend about heart eating: the statue where a Spaniard has a gaping hole in his chest and the Quechua is eating his heart, but that’s in South America and it doesn’t really fit the bill because they ate to absorb fighting prowess. Then there’s Ammit, the Egyptian demon, who would devour impure human hearts. But that doesn’t fit because beside the fact the demon was part crocodile, part lion and part hippo; she only ate them after they were _already_ dead.”

 He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

 “Hmm, maybe we’re over thinking this.” Grimmjow eyed him from across the table. “So, we know she controls vampires. Maybe she is just a really powerful and picky vampire? Like the Queen of Vampires?”

 “Queen of Vampires? Yeah right, I doubt the purple-haired woman is queen of anything considering she is slumming it in a K-town basement. It’s Oregon, not the golden coast.”

 They both snickered.

 “Well that wasn’t very nice,” a soft voice drawled from behind them.

 A scent of sandal wood washed over them as watched a lithe woman come into their field of vision.

 Her hips swayed as she walked toward them, breasts straining against the tight fabric of her thigh high white dress. A whip coiled by her side, her amethyst eyes were narrowed in anger. Indigo tear-tracks stained her porcelain face.

 Her appearance tore down the illusion of reality they had constructed in the library, leaving them naked to the dangers of the real world. A world Kurosaki had only just discovered.

 She purred, points of her teeth showing just a little past her plum lips.

 “Hello boys.”


End file.
